


A Piece of Magic

by LittlePageAndBird



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Character Study, Darillium, F/M, First Baby, Fluff, Love, Parenthood, Post-Episode: 2015 Xmas The Husbands of River Song, Pregnancy, Relationship Study
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 20:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6823765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittlePageAndBird/pseuds/LittlePageAndBird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The events of Manhattan are still raw for River Song when she discovers that, at the ripe old age of two hundred, she’s going to be a mother. With only a few pages left of her diary to fill and the Doctor nowhere to be seen she assumes the worst, refusing to contemplate a future she believes will be stolen from her.<br/>And then the surgeon she employed to decapitate her husband says “Hello Sweetie” and everything changes in an instant.<br/>With a happily-ever-after written on their last page, Darillium’s newest inhabitants prepare to embark upon the greatest adventure of their lives. And the Doctor has just one purpose: to make his wife believe in magic once again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Diary Entry - Three Months After Manhattan

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Lauren, Ari, Gokce, Dawn, Dee, Naz, Sarah, and the rest of the Song Squad. You’re the best and I love you all so much. Thank you for your friendship ♥  
> Cathie (LittlePageAndBird / @PicnicAtAsgard)
> 
> ***
> 
> Hello all!  
> Just a quick note on this chapter - I have broken my own rules for this short prologue by writing in 1st person as River; a tribute to the style of The Legends of River Song – in particular, to "Picnic at Asgard" by Jenny T. Colgan, which was the inspiration behind this fic. (The rest of the fic will be in 3rd person.)  
> Title taken from the line by Colgan in the persona of River in "Picnic at Asgard": “Every baby is a piece of magic”.  
> This chapter is set post-TATM and pre-THoRS for River. The following chapters will largely be set post-THoRS.  
> Enjoy! xx

_River._

 

I’m breaking the rules. What else is new?

I need to write this down, for my own sanity if nothing else, or for someone to find long after I'm gone. I suppose this counts as an adventure with the Doctor. That’s certainly how it began. And it’s hardly as if I have anyone else to talk to about all of this, not now, and nothing to report of him; so between these pages is where this story will stay.

Still, I can’t help thinking about how things might have been. Destructive, I know – one can waste one’s life away doing that – but as apparently I don’t have much of a life left to waste, I think I can afford to indulge myself in nostalgia.

I would have gone to Amy first. As much as I love my father, he did grow rather over-attached to that sword. (And the Doctor thinks I got that streak from my mother.) I can only imagine what they would have said, or thought. I doubt either of them ever considered that something like this would happen. It was enough of a headache that their alien best friend married their daughter. Who also happens to be an alien. And that’s not even the half of it. No wonder they wanted to get away.

That’s not fair. It’s not even true, I know. But damn it, so what? Nothing’s fair or true, least of all in my life.

I sound like a child. There’s irony to be had there; but I’ve never been a fan of irony. It always seems to be painful in my case. My idea of a family outing lost me my family. A few minutes of half-hearted apology sex with my estranged husband after a fight I can’t even remember made this.

I write this with only a few pages left to fill. I don’t even want to think about what that means for this baby.

Even if it is all I can think about. All day. Every night. It’s been almost three months now, according to the scans. I couldn't bring myself to write it down before today. Why do I do that, when all I can hear at night is that hummingbird double-pulse?

That’s the first time I’ve written the word down. It seems more alive when it’s on a page, which is no good for anyone. I can’t afford to get attached. There’s nothing more ironic than a woman who’s waited centuries for a child, getting pregnant when the stars have mapped out her death. I could laugh.

I can’t talk to _him_. Can’t ask questions. I’m too afraid of the answers – about the end of my diary, about this piece of me and him that I’m supposed to bring into the Universe that has just torn my parents away from us. Not that I could talk to him, if I weren’t such a coward. He’s not here. He never did cope well with grief, I knew that. It didn’t make seeing him deal with this hurt any less. That part was worse, much worse, than losing my parents. You can take comfort in losing someone you love if they’re happy. I wonder what it says about me that my husband would rather live on a cloud above Victorian England than take me for a nice dinner by the Singing Towers (Does he really think I don’t check up on him?). If the stories are false then he’s just... gone. Because away from me is where he wants to be, apparently.

If the stories are true…

_When aren’t they, with us?_

But I can’t think about that.

I hear stories about him too, whispers every now and then. Things he never told me about; his future, without me. He gets off that cloud at some point, from what I can gather. There’s a girl. That’s good. He’s useless on his own. Not that he was alone – I made sure of that, always – but I’m not sure I really count to him now. I’m not sure I ever did. God, I don’t know anymore. Two of the only three people I ever loved are lost to me, and the third has slipped into the stars because that’s what he does best. I should never have thought I would be an exception. Of course he doesn’t go around falling in love with people.

I do know I’m still a damn good archaeologist. I’ve thrown myself into my career to distract from my personal issues - how very cliché! Every yes to a client gives me a few more of the old days – if I don’t think hard enough then my parents are still setting me a place at the dinner table, the Doctor is putting on a suit to pick me up for a date. There’s no baby.

The Halassi got in touch a couple of days ago. Something about a diamond and a king and a beheading. It all sounds deliciously bad, if a little messy – that reminds me, I need to book a surgeon of some kind. I’m taking Ramone with me – I ought to, really. He’s the only one who’s still here, even if he never really knows quite what’s going on. And he is gorgeous. Things could be worse.

You see? I’m ok, really I am. Besides, if I’m reckless enough then matters will resolve themselves, in the end.

I’m not cut out for marriage. I’m not cut out for settling down.

I’m not cut out to be a mother.


	2. 1. Nine Thousand Christmas Dinners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While planning a life on Darillium and deliberating over whether to go the long way around, the Doctor discovers that what his wife has been hiding from him will change everything.

 

The restaurant was coming along nicely.

He’d watched it being built. Stopped by to give them pointers here and there – well, not pointers exactly. Instructions. Sketches. And a few detailed diagrams. This had to be perfect.

And if he was trying to stretch out the time before they headed into their last night, well, he suspected no-one would blame him. One last burst of running, sort of; not that he’d ever run from River, not again. No matter how much the thought of hearing the Towers sing with her by his side made his insides curl up with dread, nothing was worse than the memory of her words in the restaurant. And he had one night left, just one, to make sure she knew how wrong she was.

One night left with his River. After a millennium of marriage, for him at least, and the best part of two hundred years of what he supposed could be called courtship before that. All down to one night before time snatched her away again. For good.

The sense of movement ceasing around him roused the Doctor from his thoughts, and his brow furrowed. They were all stopping to watch the sunset. Every single worker, just standing completely still, mesmerised.

“Excuse me!” he shouted over the catch in his voice, brushing a sleeve across his eyes. “You’ve all got a restaurant to build, you haven’t got time to be sitting looking at the sunset!”

His arms flailed at his sides in exasperation when none of them so much as glanced in his direction. He saw the builder who’d taken the diamond sitting on the scaffolding, eating a sorry-looking sandwich, and sat next to him with an impatient huff.

“What’s the fascination? You’ll see it again tomorrow. And the day after that. And so on.”

“Sorry, Sir?” The Doctor gestured at the sunset, and Alphonse smiled. “Ah, of course. You’re not local. I bet you’re from somewhere where they have sunsets every day.”

“Why, how often do they have sunsets here?”

“Well, if you classed it by Earth time, I think it’s the equivalent of… twenty-four.”

“Twenty-four hours?” He felt his hearts sinking. “Alonso, there’s nothing special about that. That’s the same as on Earth.”

“Not twenty-four hours, Sir. Twenty-four years.”

“What?”

Every cell of thought in his mind paused and rewound, fast-forwarding through the possibilities that in all their lives he’d never dared to let himself imagine, now flooding his brain until he was dizzy.

_What a night that was!_

“Twenty-four _years_? A night here – one single night – lasts twenty-four years?”

“Yes, Sir.” Alphonse nibbled at his sandwich. “Is something the matter?”

“No, just…” He smiled. “That’s a lifetime.”

“Are you crying?”

“Shut up, Alonso.”

“It’s Alphonse.”

“Alonso’s better. You should change it.” He scrambled to his feet, hurrying back to the Tardis. “And get that restaurant finished!”

-

 

He skidded into the Tardis like a puppy, skirting around River to the controls and firing his ship to life.

Even the hop forwards in time made his feet itch. Twenty-four years. He wanted to _be_ there. Find peace, both of them, at long last. He wanted to start living it, delving into all the little moments that make up a life – he’d had more than enough of the universe-shattering moments. He wanted to run to New York, paradoxes be damned, and tell his best friends that he – the man who barely lasted one domestic hour with them – was giving their daughter a lifetime.

If he’d known a night lasted twenty-four years on this little planet, perhaps he wouldn’t have run from the last page for so long. Perhaps he would have run even faster. But not now. Not now. He kept telling himself that, forcing River’s words to replay in his head to keep his resolve.

The restaurant really was beautiful. All green and gold and deep red – fitting for Christmas. He wondered if they’d have to eat Christmas dinner every evening for twenty-four years. That was almost nine thousand Christmas dinners. He wasn’t sure he liked turkey _that_ much.

“I’m sorry, Sir. The first available slot I have is Christmas Day… in four years’ time.”

“Not a problem.”

And then their names were down on a little piece of paper. _Professor & Doctor Song_, because what the hell, he was feeling sentimental. The giddiness had somewhat subsided by the time he was back in the Tardis, as an idea planted itself out of old habit in his head despite his best efforts to suppress it.

They had the reservation waiting for them, four years away; nothing said they had to go straight there. They could go the long way around.

_You and me. Time and space._

This was it: their very last chance to run. Together. Every moment spent with her was always heading to this, he couldn’t change that, but nothing was stopping him taking her hand and whisking her away to the stars once again. They could come back here in ten years, or fifty, or a hundred. They could defy time. Hell, they had a time _machine_. They could do anything.

His hands paused over the controls just before he pulled the handbrake.

 _The Doctor does not, and has never, loved me_.

He shuddered, the rebel fire in him cooling. That was the problem with running.

Maybe he’d decided not to notice before. Maybe he’d been too wrapped up in what losing her would do to him to think about what it did to _her_ , all this running. But there was no escaping it after today.

It wasn’t even the guilt. He could live with that, he always had. He could shoulder the burden of his own feelings; but not hers, too. To him, the man who’d been burned to death billions of times over, his wife’s sadness was more than he could bear. She’d known that, of course; hid the damage for his sake. He’d let her because he hadn’t really known what else to do. He couldn’t set their timelines straight, or offer her any of the things she’d never had. But a life on Darillium could fix all of that; it could fix the sort of things that could never be fixed hopping around time and space in the wrong order.

River still lay with an almost amused expression at his feet, oblivious to his dilemma. Why couldn’t she make this decision? She’d always been better at them than he could ever hope to be.

“What do you want, River?” he murmured, kneeling beside her and brushing her curls back. “Slow path or long way ‘round? And, more importantly… why aren’t you awake yet?” He ran his fingers around her head, finding no bumps or blood. She must have been out for a good couple of hours by now. He realised with a pang that he hadn’t even thought to check her over or get the Tardis to scan her; he’d just assumed she’d be ok.

And that was the whole problem, wasn’t it? He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He knew the trick she’d played on him all their lives – she’d probably got it from him. Smile for long enough, and people believe you’re happy; hide your broken pieces long enough and they’ll believe you’re whole.

Now, on top of everything else, the Tardis was being cryptic. “What are you doing?” He thumped the side of the monitor to no avail as it changed the type of scan to the one he’d requested, scowling at his ship. “Did you hit your head, too?”

Resetting several times did nothing whatsoever; the old girl started making noises that sounded vaguely insistent. “No, I want to scan her _head_. Why would I-? Why am I arguing with a monitor?”

There was a noise like a sigh, and then one word on the screen.

“Positive?” the Doctor echoed softly. Nothing could shift the word, glaring in red neon letters back at him, and he threw his hands up. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me! What’s positive?”

The word flashed stubbornly at him from the screen, like the Tardis stamping her foot waiting for the penny to drop.

“Oh…”

His ship fell silent the moment he felt all his blood rush away.

“That’s not possible.”

It was a feeble argument, spoken barely above a whisper, but the Tardis had the last word regardless; _Positive_ fell away and in its place an image formed of something tiny curled up in a sea of dark.

Their baby. The scan didn’t give him any space to doubt – there they were, fluttering wildly: two hearts, each the size of a button.

“Oh, River.”

The sound of a tiny drumbeat echoed through the console room to match the tiny heart dots, and his eyes slipped shut. Knowledge he hadn’t realised he’d kept for a very long time told him how many days it had existed, this impossible little thing, and he shook his head against an almost painful rush of guilt.

The memory of those last few days with her after Manhattan had lingered like a bad dream for a very long time. She’d left via vortex manipulator; no goodbye, no note. He’d put her change of mood down to losing her parents, and he’d been too wrapped up in his own grief to do anything about it. It hadn’t even occurred to him that it might have been something else entirely.

Fishing in his pocket for a handkerchief, he came across her diary tucked away where he’d put it for safekeeping on the Harmony and Redemption. He eased it open like she’d start awake at hearing the pages turning, scrambling to the last page written on before he could stop himself and running his eyes down it.

 _I’m not cut out to be a mother_.

“No, River…”

The diary flipped back another page, and he felt his hearts lurch. But it would do no harm to read it now, he mused. There were no spoilers left after all.

The Doctor sunk to the floor next to her with the diary in his hands. He flicked through the pages with shaking fingers, eyes darting between the diary and River, knowing what he was really looking for but half-hoped he wouldn’t find.

Nevertheless, it didn’t take long to find it: carved into paper, solid and unavoidable in his hands. His wife had wanted children.

It wasn’t all she talked about; in fact, she talked about a _lot_ of other things, things that made his ears burn just scanning over the words she’d written. Every anniversary, birthday, Wednesday afternoon –

But there it was, peppered between every adventure – sometimes fleeting mentions, sometimes page after page of contemplation because who else could she talk to, he supposed.

She’d wanted to talk to him. But he didn’t show up, or he showed up too young, or he took her somewhere with far too many distractions for them to hold a conversation like this. She always seemed to be caught in that impossible state when the head gave up long ago but the heart’s still clinging onto hope.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, smoothing his thumb over the apple of her cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

He could fix this. For the first time in their life together, he could be the one making sure _she_ was cared for. For once in their lives, it wasn’t too late. And god – he wanted this. It was terrifying and astonishing all at the same time, and he’d always sworn against bringing any more children into this uncompromising universe – but River had always been the exception to his every rule.

He made himself snap her diary shut, mainly with the thought of what she’d do to him if she woke up and discovered him snooping. She still had the tiniest of smirks on her face, and he wondered if she was dreaming. Maybe she just always looked like that when she slept – he wouldn’t know. But he could find out. He could do it the only way you find out all the tiny, unimportant little things about a person – by staying, day after day.

As he sat by her side, he imagined it. All of it. Cautiously at first, until his mind ran ahead – it had been so long since he’d last done this that it felt new to envision, a thrill like he’d ever known. He would learn his wife all over again, all the little things she’d always kept from him – those routines that everyone had, that he’d only ever know from living alongside her like he never had before. Rather than waking to find her gone and a flirtatious note on his pillow, he’d know if she snored, if she secretly loved lie-ins, if she needed coffee to wake up, if she ate breakfast, how the hell she coped with that hair in the morning.

He’d see her as a mother. She’d hold her first baby for the very first time and he’d be _there_ , because for once this little ordinary life was going to be his too. Forget all the new worlds and supernovas; the magic, the happiness he’d been afraid to seek for so long, was all here.

She didn’t stir as he shifted her into his lap, cradling her head in his hands. “You’re going to be ok, sweetie.” He tucked her curls behind her ears, kissing her forehead. “I promise you. You’re both going to be ok.”

He’d never flown the Tardis so perfectly. She landed with a wheeze a few months shy of four years later; the last stop she’d make before the Doctor shut down the controls and put his beloved ship into hibernation.

There was a lifetime waiting for them right outside those doors, and twenty-four years. Twenty-four years to be a family.

There was just something he needed to do first.

The sun was low on the horizon when he burst out of the Tardis and whistled. “Alphonse!” he yelled. “One more thing!”


	3. 2. Plan A

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor and River sit down to their first dinner on Darillium.

 “ _I hate you!_ ”

“ _No you don’t._ ”

Ramone had barged in with the drinks when River’s lips were a mere moment away from meeting his, and she’d laughed at the Doctor’s growl of frustration. With a whispered promise of “Later,” she’d taken his hand, his leading lady as ever, and taken a seat opposite him at the finest table in all the galaxy. They flirted and bickered in equal measure over the main course, something in their voices softer than usual, and his eyes never left her for a slip in the façade that, of course, never came because she was River.

Three courses in, and the small talk was beginning to make him itch. Not because it was small talk – god, he’d spent millennia talking into empty spaces and yearning to hear her voice in return, telling him that he was being an idiot. He needed to wind her up until she shouted and tell terrible jokes that she laughed at anyway and whisper things to her in the dark that made her kiss him like he was the centre of her universe. It was greater than anything else, being loved that fiercely.

But they weren’t talking about the one thing they both wanted to talk about, and he needed them to be. He knew perfectly well why she hadn’t told him yet, and as long as she believed he had done all of this without knowing about the baby then none of this was real to her.

“Oh my god!” River slumped back in her chair with a contented sigh, the silhouette of the Towers behind her looking as if they’d been built just to be her frame. Her free hand was warm in his, pulse fluttering against his thumb. “This cake! I’ve had some cake in my time, but this has to be the best.”

“We’re on Darillium, River. This is our planet; everything’s the best of the best here.” He gave her a wry smile. “I made sure of it.”

“You did. And twenty-four years,” River breathed. He watched her fingers bunch up the tablecloth, then smooth it out, again and again; apparently she was growing restless too. And her voice was dripping like syrup, the sort of tone that used to make him sway towards her like she was a point of gravity – still did, a little bit. Of course, he knew her well enough now to know why she used it. But he wasn’t young anymore; distractions didn’t work as well. “That’s an awful lot of time to fill, husband. Whatever did you have in mind?”

“Well…” Now or never. He swirled his ice cream in a figure eight around the bowl, fighting back a smile.

“The baby’s sure to keep us occupied.”

Still with his eyes on his ice cream, he felt her freeze. When his eyes darted up she was stuck with her mouth open, her spoonful of cake halfway into it, and the delightful little feeling that had been fizzing in his chest all evening almost ached. She was going to be a mother to his child; he’d been so preoccupied with being the strong one for once that the thought still sent a zing of shock ringing through him.

River lowered her spoon slowly, and he couldn’t help noticing the tremble in her hand. They stared each other down across the table, her eyes glistening.

There was a catch in her throat when she spoke that made his hearts lurch. “How do you know?”

“Well, I’ve lived a long life; when you get to my age, you discover certain tells for these things that-”

“Doctor.”

He gave in under her scowl, pouting just a little. “I… used the Tardis to scan you, when she crashed here. I was just checking for internal injuries. There aren’t any, by the way. Everything’s fine.”

“I know.” She brushed at her cheeks hastily, clearing her throat. “I checked too.”

He nodded slowly, the events of the past day flitting through his head. “I wasn’t sure if you knew at first. People in your condition don’t tend to run around on crashing spaceships with headless kings.”

She bristled, still defiant despite the evident tremble in her nerves, and the hand he’d been clutching to anchor her was snatched away. “I’m not people. And you’re being slow.”

“I am?”

“The Halassi Androvar. The most valuable diamond in the universe. The money from that would give a baby a pretty good start in life, don’t you think?”

“Oh.”

“Well. That was my Plan B.”

“What was Plan A?”

She met his eyes calmly.  “Plan A took too long showing up.”

He remembered Mendorax Dellora. “You were looking for me,” he said softly, the words in her diary still ringing in his ears. “River, I’m sorry-”

“Please don’t start with that. What’s done is done.”

He clamped his mouth shut.

“It’s not as if you knew.” She shrugged, but as she cast her glance to the sunset he saw the way her eyes glistened in the dying light. “I’ve been ok.”

“Please don’t do that.”

Her eyes flew up, incredulous. “Do what?”

“I don’t expect you to be ok with anything that the universe has thrown at you. I’ve known you far too long and I know you’re angry. Just do me a favour and admit it.”

Her glare sort of made him wish they could go back to talking about cake. “I _was_ angry. I was furious with you. I spend most of my bloody life being furious with you.  But then you had to go and do all of this.”

“Well, I have a lot to make up for,” he said softly.

River moved her head away as his fingers came up to brush a tear from her cheek. “Yes, you do.”

“You deserve all of this.”

She sat up straighter, raising her chin; in the fiery lowlight she looked almost regal. “Yes. I do.”

“Did you tell anyone else?”

“Like Ramone, you mean?” She rolled her eyes. “You really don’t need to worry about him, you know. I’ve known him for a long time; he’s a good friend.”

“Do you marry all of your friends?”

“Just the pretty ones.” She smiled faintly. “And no, I didn’t tell him. I didn’t tell anyone, as a matter of fact.”

“Why not?” he asked, even though he already half knew the answer. It was very probably his fault that she'd come to consider isolation as the safer option.

“It’s not their business. I’m not going to tell people who don’t even know my real name details of my personal life, especially details that even _I_ haven’t come to terms with…” She sighed, pushing her plate away. “Ok. Since we’re talking about it, you should know that even though I had my – admittedly not very well thought out – plans… I still haven’t really got my head around this. I’ve known for a while now.”

“Manhattan,” he said quietly.

She nodded. “It all seemed terribly unfair. I didn’t know what to do, except… keep going.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was _going_ to,” she said pointedly, giving him a glare before the weight of the situation made her tear her gaze away to inspect the tablecloth. “I couldn’t find you. I didn’t really expect to find you; after what happened with my parents, I knew you wouldn’t want to be found. I thought we were…”

Her brow furrowed as she risked a glance up at him. “You’re smiling,” she observed quietly, like she couldn’t believe it. He was, too. Grinning like an idiot – he couldn’t do anything else. “What do you think?” she ventured.

His smile softened, head tilting to the side. “What do _you_ think?”

The best cake in the universe was pushed around its plate, reduced to crumbs by multiple stabs of her fork. “I think I’m happy,” she said after a pause, like she was shy to admit it. Blessedly, for the first time since he’d brought it up, she was properly smiling. “I mean… I _am_ happy. I am now, at least; now I know I have time. I won’t pretend I’m not terrified – it’s not as if I have the first idea how to be a parent, but – a part of me, no matter how stupid… a part of me has always wanted this. In here.” She tapped the space above her single heart. “I just didn’t let myself give into it, because I didn’t think it would ever happen. I doubted it was even possible for me, and if it was I thought there’d never be a right time... with you and me," she ventured, her voice quietening. "Always running around time and space, meeting in the wrong order. Never staying still long enough.”

He finally caught her restless hand in his, his fingers fitting between hers like they were made to be there. Perhaps they were. “Until now.”

She hummed, eyes softening as she glanced at the Towers. “One could call it fate. If you believe in that sort of thing.”

“I do,” he said softly.

River pursed her lips, gazing wretchedly at their intertwined hands, and inhaled sharply. “I suppose you’ll be going now.”

He blinked. “What?”

River shrugged, her mouth set in a hardened line. “Well, now you’ve made sure I’m alright. Even built me somewhere to live; how generous.”

“River-”

Her voice shook as it rose over his. “You know what, Doctor? It’s _very_ unfair of you to bring me here and give me a big speech about monoliths and songs and happily-ever-afters just to sod off again – sod off, by all means, but for once in your life could you just be _straight_ with me-”

“I’m not _sodding off_ anywhere,” he said carefully.

She swallowed, eyeing him warily. “Do you really want this, Doctor? Because I don’t want you to feel as if you have to want it just because it’s pre-written that we spend the night here,” she insisted before he could answer. “The stories didn’t say anything about twenty-four years, or... that there’d be three of us.” She folded her napkin into a little square, missing his smile. “I know you’re trying to make up for your mistakes, and I love you for that, but I can do this on my own. I certainly don’t need you here and I won’t let you do this out of a sense of duty if it isn’t really what you want to do for the next quarter of a century.”

She scrubbed her tears away as soon as they fell, clenching her jaw in a last attempt to steel herself. The thing that really twisted the knife into his hearts was that her words sounded rehearsed. He found himself with a surprising and long-forgotten urge to hug her, but that wasn’t the kind of reassurance she needed now.

“River.” She’d long since drawn her hand away yet again and he sought it across the table, cupping it in both of his while she watched him like she expected him to say goodbye. “I found out about this while you were unconscious. In the _Tardis_. All of time and space quite literally at my fingertips. If I didn’t want this, we wouldn’t be here - no matter what the stories say.”

She sighed desperately against the hope building a glint in her eyes. “But all of this – life in one place, no worlds to save, just a – a hormonal wife and nappies to change… it’s not really _you_ , is it?”

“No, but… I’d like it to be. There’s a difference between not wanting something and convincing yourself you don’t want it because you think it’ll make it hurt less. Isn’t there?” He raised his eyebrows and she deflated in her seat, forehead puckered. “I haven’t done this for a very long time,” he carried on quietly, “But the way it makes you feel isn’t something one forgets. And it’s amazing. You’ll see.” She gave him a half-smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and he squeezed her hand. “Hey. It’s ok to be happy, you know. You’re going to be fine. It’s safe to be excited.”

The corners of her mouth twinged. “I’m still very much at the scared stage.”

“It’s your first baby. You’d be doing something wrong if you weren’t scared. But you’re not doing this alone.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“You don’t need to thank me.” He tilted his head, watching her worry at her bottom lip and direct her gaze at absolutely everything except him because she still didn’t know quite how to show the damage. That was ok, though, he thought; they had time to fix all the little things like that, the things that could only have stayed hopelessly broken before.

“Tell you what. We have plenty of time to talk. And it’s been a very long day.” He got to his feet, offering her his hand with a smile and bringing a hint of warmth into her features. “We’ve barely had a chance to get reacquainted.”


	4. 3: Since You Came Along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor and River go dancing, and talk to each other about what they really want from their life on Darillium.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title for this chapter taken from You Sexy Thing by Hot Chocolate. Read and you'll see why. :)  
> Thank you from the bottom of my little heart to everyone who's following this series. I hope you enjoy this chapter xx

 The Doctor linked his arm in hers and babbled at her until she almost became herself again, leaning into him as they walked.

“So, the whole planet is basically one big tourist resort. One of many discovered and claimed by exploring humans in the early fiftieth centuries; funnily enough, it was the crash that led to them settling here – about a decade ago now. Someone may have suggested to one of the rescue team that a restaurant be built.” He smiled. “It’s a hotel, too; the staff live here permanently, of course, but everyone else is just passing through. There’s a miniature sort of village around the back, build onto the restaurant; shops, a couple of cafés. And the building itself isn’t just a restaurant.”

“No?”

“Oh, no. Ballroom, arcade, spa, anti-grav tennis courts, ice rink, golf course, karaoke, bowling…”

“Bowling? I love bowling.”

“Do you?”

“I’m world-class. A bit… outdated for this century though, isn’t it?”

He chuckled. “As you well know, Professor, humans have revived 20th century traditions many times since. All that space exploration made them nostalgic for the simple things.”

River hummed. “And I suppose it has nothing to do with the man who designed all of this for his wife and the fact that all of these things were around when she was growing up, or on her favourite dates with said husband?”

He looked sideways to find her smiling, and she leaned in to kiss his cheek. “No-one’s ever designed a planet for me before.”

“Not even Ramone?”

She snorted, pressing her nose into his shoulder. “Not even Ramone. But in his defence, he did prove useful to me in a manner of other ways…”

He pulled a face. “Ok, ok, ok. I’m fine if you just keep that between yourselves.”

River laughed, pulling him along. “Oh darling, it’s been about three months of bloating and nausea; believe me, I haven’t been doing anything with anyone.” She whacked his arm. “You don’t have to look so happy about it. And in case you were interested… I’m feeling a lot better now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They’d reached the ballroom during their wander; the band were playing violins for the few waltzing couples of various species. At the edge of the floor he grinned and offered River his hand. “My lady?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You still dance, then?”

“You tell me.” He took her hand and twirled her onto the floor, delighting in her breathless laughter.

They fell into step with the slow music like they’d been dancing to this particular melody all their lives, without the interlude of centuries that now seemed like nothing. He clasped her hand in his as she shifted close to him, swaying them lazily from side to side. “You taught me how to dance.”

She’d told him of her dalliances with his younger face, the one before the Time War; murmured it to him on one of the few nights they’d lingered together after Manhattan in an attempt to lighten his mood. He hadn’t responded too kindly – their timelines were enough of a mess without her doing stupid things like that, he’d snapped – but the years had softened him to the idea of her being woven into the fabric of his life without him even realising it.

“You were always there,” he mused softly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t, when I should have been.”

“Hush, sweetie,” River whispered, pressing her cheek to his and closing her eyes. “Let’s just dance.”

Her hand that wasn’t cradled in his was pressed to his chest, and he suddenly became very aware of just how fast his hearts were beating. They hadn’t really been steady since Mendorax Dellora – she tended to have that effect. And she damn well knew it – he could feel her smiling, everything about her just beaming back at him. He angled his head just slightly to the side so his lips were pressed to her temple, and wondered if she’d be ok with him kissing her.

He found himself getting distracted before he could get caught up in his head about the concerns of having a wife who’d fallen in love with another face. Something felt off; not hugely so but enough for him to notice – like he couldn’t get close enough to her. Looking down at the little space between them that he couldn’t quite close, he picked up on a faint blur around her dress.

“Perception filter.”

River answered the question he hadn’t yet asked, and he looked up to find her smirking. “Come on – a spray that changes your clothes? I wish. Though it is very convincing.”

“So…” He tilted his head. “Are you… wearing any clothes?”

She winked. He didn’t press her when her smile wobbled at the edges. The scan had said she was almost four months gone; it didn’t take a genius to guess what she was hiding.

“Oh! Before I forget…” He stopped their dancing and pulled her diary from his pocket, holding it up with a grin.

She gasped, her eyes lighting up. “You saved it!”

“Yeah.” He scratched his cheek. “Uh. Small thing. When you were unconscious, there’s a chance I may have… read just a tiny bit-”

River’s expression hardened. “You what?”

He winced. “Not all of it! I just flicked through, read a few passages here and there.”

“Doctor!”

“What – there are no spoilers now!”

“It doesn’t matter about spoilers! You don’t just go around reading people’s diaries!” She snatched it out of his hands, eyeing him warily because she knew full well where this was going. “Can’t a girl have any privacy? You’ve known me since I was a baby; you know bloody everything about me as it is.”

“Except I don’t, do I?” he asked softly, and as her eyes fell to her diary he knew he didn’t need to elaborate for her to know which entry he was thinking of. “You’ve wanted this for a long time.”

She sighed through her nose, her gaze floating somewhere over his shoulder. “I suppose so.”

“You suppose so,” he echoed softly. “The mentions in your diary start about six pages in. That’s over a century. The best part of your life.”

“I know, but it… it was never something I really thought would _happen_. It’s like – I don’t know. When humans want to win the lottery; just this niggling hope in the back of their head makes them buy a ticket every week, even though they know the odds are against them. As long as you know it _could_ be possible, someday, then it never leaves you.” She shrugged. “It didn’t really mean anything. Until now, of course.”

He placed his hand over the one she had splayed across his chest, slipping his fingers between hers. “River… what you wrote in your last entry… it sounded as if you were…” He swallowed. “You said it was your plan, to secure your future, but what I read - you talked like… like you didn’t want a future at all.”

She worried at her lip. “I don’t know. It wasn’t exactly the best timing. You were gone, my parents, everyone I ever…” She pressed her eyes shut for a moment, and he squeezed her hand until she carried on. “I knew I only had a few pages left in my diary, and made assumptions about what that meant. Truth be told, it didn’t bother me in the slightest – I’ve had a fantastic life. But then I found out about the baby…” She shook her head, and the breath that she drew in trembled as she studied him for a moment like she was trying to work out how much of her damage he could take. “I knew I didn’t have to keep it – it’s not like I have any qualms about that sort of thing – but I… I couldn’t do that to myself. You’re right; I have wanted this for a very long time, no matter how much I may have tried to convince myself that I didn’t, or how difficult I thought it was going to be. And I was so sure that this wasn’t possible for me, after all this time… I had no idea what my chances were, I still don’t, but I knew… if I believed in miracles, then this would be one.”

“There’s a song about believing in miracles,” he remarked.

“You sexy thing.”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s a line from the song.”

“Oh.”

She smiled faintly. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want a future. I did – I _do_. I was just so sure that I wasn’t getting one. I thought if I could convince myself I didn’t care then it would hurt less.”

“Ah, that old trick.” He smiled wryly. “But you still stole the diamond, with a mind to provide for you both?”

“I did. The professorship and all its benefits pay well, and even without that I could have just hopped around the galaxy pilfering what I needed, but that would have been considerably more difficult with a baby in tow. I thought with a lump sum then I’d be able to settle in one place and stay with them; keep them safe.”

He felt a pang in his stomach. “You planned all of that, even when you thought you’d never have the chance to enact it.”

“I couldn’t help it. Hope without belief.” She looked up at him with those dewy eyes. “I never thought I’d see you again, at least not any version of you old enough to handle this, but I still looked for you. And, well, I… I never let myself imagine anything even close to _this_.”

“I know.” He smiled at the setting sun and the silhouette of the Towers outside the ballroom windows. “It’s a nice little place, isn’t it?”

“I’m not talking about Darillium, love.” He frowned, and she shook her head like she still couldn’t quite believe it. “You knew when I saw you on the balcony. You committed to these twenty-four years, knowing that there’d be a baby in the picture.”

“And that surprises you?”

She wavered under his gaze. “I thought we weren’t talking about this now.”

“You still don’t believe me,” he said softly. “You believe what you said on the ship. That’s something we need to talk about.”

“Doctor…”                                  

“I know, I know that a couple of laboured metaphors can’t make up for two hundred years. I know it’s my fault. But this is my baby too, River. It’s as much my responsibility as it is yours. Do you really think I’d leave you?”

“That’s what you do.”

“Not to you. Never to you.”

River smiled thinly. “Just how many years ago did you make this baby, Doctor?”

He winced. “That was… different. I knew this night was coming up, and… you know what this night is. I was terrified of losing you. I still am,” he admitted, even though he almost couldn’t bear it even now. “So I ran. I know it doesn’t make sense, but in my mind it was better to know that you were still waiting for me in the future than to say goodbye to you. After Amy and Rory, I was convinced I couldn’t face any more endings. But that was _wrong_. I know that. I knew it then. I put myself first, and I shouldn’t have; baby or no baby.”

They stood in the middle of the dancefloor, frozen still in their hold. Every word burned his throat but he held her to him and made himself look at her, because she wore the same face that she had on the ship when she’d turned and found him standing there, greeting her with her own words. She looked faintly hopeful, and it ate away at his insides; because, after century upon century of him showing her what he could never quite say in every way he knew how, she was still only just hoping. 

“River, I travel because it’s all I know – because I have to. I’ve never been lucky enough to have a life with someone, in one place and time; not since Gallifrey. Until now.”

“It was hardly your choice to be here though, was it?” she asked flatly. “We literally crashed head-first into this planet.”

“I know. And you’re right. Fate has brought us here, but we don’t have to stay. We could get in the Tardis and run, as fast as we can. But here, we can have the one adventure neither of us ever thought we’d have; we can have a life together. And if a child is going to be part of that, then… that’s even better.”

“Is it?”

“Well, we’re together; as close to being in the right order as we’ll ever be. It’s as good a time as any.” His fingertips pressed into her wrist, running tiny circles over her pulse. “All things considered… I think this might be the best thing that could have happened for us.”

River’s eyes had filled with tears, and he was suddenly aware that at some point they had become the only ones left on the dancefloor. The band was still playing for them, the music echoing off the marble walls and mingling with their words. “But that’s more than enough about me,” he decided, in a thinly veiled attempt to lighten what had become a very solemn mood. “What is it that _you_ want, River?”

She scrunched her nose. “You’ll laugh.”

“I will not laugh.”

River rolled her eyes, her fingers curling up in his grasp at the effort of her words. “I just… I want normality. I want lie-ins and breakfast and staying up late talking. Routine. The stupid little sentimental things that other people just _do_. I’ve never had that, not once. And I always thought, if I ever had a family, I would do it properly as far as I could. Give my children all the things I could never have.”

He nodded, smiling at the thought of it. “Well, we can certainly do that here.”

Her brow crinkled. “Are you sure?”

“ _Yes_.” He laughed. “Don’t ask me again. I know I didn’t choose to come here, but I’m choosing to stay. Just… trust me. I know it’s a big ask, but please, River. Just this once.” He pressed his palm to her cheek, and she tilted into it with a watery smile. “I think after everything we’ve been through, we need this. We are owed this.”

He’d been choosing his words with precision since he’d heard what he was never supposed to on the starship, never knowing if any of it was making a difference. But for once in his life, he realised with a surge of relief as her hands swept up to cradle the back of his head and pull his mouth down to hers, he must have done something right.

It was unexpectedly gentle, hesitant almost, not like River – not like _them_ , the couple who did everything, for good reason, like they were running out of time – but still enough to make his hearts stutter and his mind to contemplate the embarrassment of regenerating due to kiss-induced cardiac arrest.

But no, he was blessedly still intact when she softly pulled away – sooner than he’d have liked, as if she was testing the water. It occurred to him briefly that as he was unsure what she thought of this new body, she was just as unsure what this new body thought of her; hence the strange but oddly wonderful feeling of being on a first date with the woman he’d been married to for millennia. She stayed close to him all the same, their noses brushing together and their smiles ridiculously wide, and for the first time he could feel settled knowing that they had time for all of this.

“I love you so much,” she whispered, stroking his cheek with the backs of her fingers and laughing to herself. “It’s nice saying that when the universe isn’t ending.”

“It’s nice to hear.” He caught her hand in his. “Come with me. There’s something I need to show you.”

 

 


	5. 4. Baby Starlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor takes River to their new home on Darillium.

 “Are they still closed?”

The Doctor walked River down a little pebbled track off to the right of the Towers, keeping his hands over her eyes as he walked behind her. She had his dinner jacket draped around her shoulders, cheeks rosy from the cool breeze. The last embers of the sunset made their shadows into giants, the golden tinge fading to twilight by the time he’d led her to their destination.

River huffed. “Yes! You can’t tell, but they’re rolling. Where are we _going_?”

“Spoilers! Ok, there, stop.”

She sighed. “You had better at the _very_ least be in some form of revealing outfit when I open my eyes.”

“Sorry.” He took his hands away carefully and came to stand in front of her. “Ready?”

“Are you going to kiss me? We’re married, sweetie; you don’t have to be shy.”

“I’m not going to kiss you, you mad thing. I know where you’ve been.”

She cracked an eye open to glare at him. “Scottish.”

“Flirt. Close your eyes!”

River huffed dramatically, folding her arms. He stepped to the side, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Ready? And… open.”

His arm swept with a flourish across the view before them – a small redbrick cottage, framed by the silhouette of the Towers and surrounded by freshly planted flowers that seemed to glow in the baby starlight.

River looked at him searchingly. “Whose house?”

He took her hand and pressed a key into her palm, a smile itching to burst across his face. “Our house.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“You didn’t think we’d be living in a box for the next twenty-four years, did you?” He raised an eyebrow and unfastened the latch on the little picket gate.

Not for the first time in the evening, River looked torn between laughing and bursting into tears. He left her to run ahead, fingertips brushing the sunflowers lining either side of the cobblestone path right up to the front door painted a familiar shade of blue. With a last look back at him like she half expected him to tell her this was all a very elaborate practical joke, she twisted her key in the lock and tiptoed inside as if a sudden movement would make the walls collapse like cardboard.

He’d had the whole team work on this. They’d built and decorated the place exactly as he’d outlined, while he’d hopped back to a few choice places – being careful not to wake River, who was at the time still unconscious on the Tardis floor – to pluck the finishing touches from their respective times. The painting in the dining room was one she’d attempted to steal when they visited 1920s Paris. The bookcases met with the ceiling, and were lined with all her favourites – even the archaeology ones. Some of the finer details like that had been pulled out of storage in the Tardis; the dresses hanging in the wardrobe, the shoes lined up along the wall, the trinkets she’d collected (or nicked) over the years littering each surface, to name a few.

She even seemed to love the things he’d been unsure about – he’d almost taken down the little lit-up “Mr & Mrs” sign above the fireplace, not least because they weren’t even the right titles. But when River noticed it, she gasped quietly and held her hand to her chest. All of this was for her, of course, but he’d been sure to make it _theirs_ in a way that nowhere else had been before. Even the Tardis carried the echo of those who had gone before, and since, and in-between. But the clawed bathtub big enough for two, the four-poster with silk sheets, the little swing bench on the back porch overlooking the Towers – theirs to share, and only theirs. And this could only be their home, with the fifty-first century gadgets sitting alongside the Victorian statement pieces and mingling with the medieval artefacts. Somehow, like they always had, all the little unique pieces seemed to fall together perfectly.

There was one room he’d left. It was painted a milky blue with silver stars adorning the walls and a giant skylight that gave her a spectacular view of the real ones, but otherwise bare.

“I thought you might want to help with this one,” he whispered into the sacred silence, coming to stand with her in the middle of the empty room. She seemed lost in a reverie, and when he took her by the hand and gently led her to the final room, their room, she was quiet enough for it to worry him.

“It’s nothing,” she answered before he could ask, smiling an apology and wiping hastily at her cheeks.

“Just the wind?” he offered with a small smile. She wrung her hands, her eyes still not having returned to their regular size, and he winced. “I didn’t overdo it, did I?”

“No, sweetie. No. It’s perfect,” she said softly.

“That’s what I was going for.” He flicked an invisible speck of dust off the armoire. “I thought it’d be nice, to have a place to call home that isn’t a spaceship.”

“I’ve never really had a proper home before,” she breathed, looking around their room like a kid in a sweetshop. He thought of all her nights in Stormcage, freezing and alone on that bed with the broken springs, and felt his hearts flip over.

“Me neither. Well, not for many lives.” He grinned. “Exciting, isn’t it?”

River managed a huff of quiet laughter, wringing her hands together. “I can’t believe you did all of this for me.”

“You deserve it.”

“Even after marrying a cyborg king?”

“I thought you married the diamond?” he teased.

“Oh, shut up.” She tilted her head to the side, returning his gaze. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just that… I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look this happy.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.” She smiled, nudging him with her shoulder. “Well done.”

“Thanks.”

She giggled, linking her arm through his. “How does this work, then? Do we have a mortgage?” She wrinkled her nose. “Do we pay bills?”

“Oh yeah, I should probably set up a bank account or something…”

“I’ll set one up, darling. I’m the one with an income.”

He snorted. “They pay you for fossil dusting?”

“Excuse me! I do a lot more than dust fossils, as you well know. I’ve had one of the most successful careers of anyone in my field in _all_ of history.”

“That’s commendable, but glorified grave-robbing is not a _career_.”

“Shut up!”

“Make me.”

The words slipped out before he could check himself, and River raised her eyebrows like she was impressed.

The conversation lulled, and not for the first time that evening they found themselves pressed together with no words left to say. It was strange like no human would ever know; comfortable, yet new. He was in no doubt that it was his wife before him, yet with time and regeneration there was a freshness there, like a first date with a girl he was already half in love with.

Even River seemed hesitant where she’d usually be bold, keeping just enough distance between them to make the pull stronger. Tonight was all unflinching eye contact and brushes of fingertips against wrists and jaws, like they were touching each other for the first time. In a way, he supposed, they were.  And he’d never been one to initiate these things – especially when he’d just popped up with a new face that wasn’t as smiley or smooth as the one she’d married. He didn’t want to completely repulse the woman when they still had over two decades left.

“What are you thinking?” River asked quietly, close enough for her breath to tickle his lips. He watched the movement of her mouth as the corners curved upwards, enraptured. And then something in him surged forwards and finally, finally closed what very little distance was left between them. He surprised himself, but apparently not River, whose hand came up to cup his cheek like an instinct and who arched into his kiss with a soft gasp of pleasure.

The momentary boldness didn’t take long to melt away and for his brain to kick back into gear, reining his hearts in and forcing them to beat triple-time with its overthinking. Every kiss they’d ever shared was suddenly on a very vivid loop behind his eyelids and he wondered if it was good different, or bad different, or not different at all. It became an act of sheer concentration, almost competition, whenever River wasn’t shifting against him in ways that made all thought processes dissolve.

They slowed after minutes, or hours - he had no idea, but eventually they became less frantic, less like a last kiss and more like they had a lifetime of kisses, allowing him to come back to himself.

“Doesn’t it get dull after a while?” she murmured in between kisses, smirking against his lips. “As an activity it’s not… hugely varied…”

He growled, nipping at her bottom lip, and she arched into him with a pleased hum.

“That bed looks rather inviting, don’t you think?”

He hummed low in his throat as she mouthed at his jaw, hands running over her dress. “You’re going to have to take this off at some point.”

River smirked. “My, someone’s impatient.”

He scowled faintly at her teasing, fingers tingling as they skimmed along the sides of her perception filter. “You don’t have anything to hide from me,” he reminded her softly.

“Ok,” she conceded, her eyebrows knitting together. She pulled the perfume bottle from her bag and twisted the spray top off to reveal a button and when she pressed it, and the sparkling red dress disappeared. In its place was a green dress that made old memories sing in him, and he bit back a gasp at the fabric straining over a perfect little bump.

“Well?” she asked, almost nervously.

He swallowed a sharp lump in his throat. “Beautiful,” he whispered, awestruck, stepping into her space.

She snorted. “Out of shape. This is my favourite, and it barely fits anymore. And look at these,” she said flatly, indicating the shadows under her eyes. “Wouldn’t have killed you to warn me about Time Lord pregnancy. It’s bloody gruelling.”

Her skin carried a faint ashen sheen, cheeks plump and harbouring the only spots of colour. He cupped them in his palms, smiling widely. “You look wonderful, River.” She swayed into him at the words, and her belly pressing into his drew his gaze down. “Can I…?”

She nodded, and he placed his hands on the swell of her stomach, stroking little pathways with his thumbs. The first whispers of barely-formed thought drifted through to him with each touch, the age-old instinctive telepathic bond between Gallifreyan parent and child. The force of it, after millennia of silence, made tears well in his eyes.

“It’s strange,” she said softly. “Someone else doing that besides me. No-one else has seen me like this.”

“Why did you hide it?”

“Lots of reasons. I could have run into a version of you not even old enough to have kissed me. I could have run into one of the scores of species who want us dead – I doubt the Daleks would be best pleased to know you’re reproducing. I don’t fancy fighting an intergalactic war _and_ morning sickness.” She smiled wryly. “Besides, I was on an important mission, and a baby bump is basically one giant Achilles heel – I didn’t want anyone knowing how vulnerable I was, and using it against me.”

“Hiding the damage,” the Doctor murmured. She gave him a look. “You know… you don’t have to do that, not now.”

She smiled sadly. “Yes, I do.”

“No.” He searched for the right words, mapping out little circles in her belly. “I do know you, River. More than I think you realise. And I’m not going anywhere. All I ask is that you be _you_. Be the River I saw today; I don’t want us to go back from that. I don’t want it to be forgotten.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“Yes I do. What I found out today – what I _only_ found out today because you didn’t think I was in the room listening – I can only make up for that if you don’t pretend that there’s nothing to make up for.”

She shook her head, pulling away far enough for his fingers to slip from her stomach. “You don’t have to make up for anything, Doctor. That’s like asking a sun to apologise for-”

“If you compare me to a star one more time, so help me, River-”

“But you are!”

“And you’re a diamond. Yet you still love me. And if anyone in this Universe has the power to make a sunset admire her, my money’s on you.” He sighed softly, running his hands down her arms. “I’m giving you _time_ , River. In the right order. No worlds to save, no monsters to fight… just you and I. Together. I… I don’t know how better to show you.”

She reached up on her toes until their noses brushed together, her eyes soft. “That impossible man I married,” she murmured, smoothing her hands over his jacket, “The one who’d rather throw himself into a supernova than have a talk about feelings, what happened to him?”

He bopped her nose with his. “He grew up.”

And then she was kissing him again and the world was falling away under his feet. At some point, she’d pulled him down to sit with her on the end of the bed, and then her hands were sliding over his shoulders to slip his jacket off and he felt a strange blend of hope and trepidation fizzing low in his stomach that spread through him like a chill. He tried to push past the feeling, kissing her until his lungs swelled with the force of it, but he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. River broke away from him gently when she felt it, taking hold of his wrists to cradle his hands in her smaller ones. He couldn’t stop a frustrated sigh when they continued to tremble even then, curling them into fists.

River dropped her head to kiss his knuckles, and met his eyes solemnly. “Just say the word,” she whispered, “If you don’t want to do this. It’s ok,” she assured him, touching her fingertips to his cheek. She stayed close enough to him that her breath tickled his lips. “I know regeneration can change things.”

“Not you and me,” he said firmly. “Never that.”

She leaned into him, pressing her lips to his experimentally for a fleeting moment. “Are you sure?”

“Very.” Realising the tremor in his hands was no less obvious, he felt the need to quietly confess. “It’s just that… it’s been a very long time, and I’m not as young, physically or otherwise, as I used to be…” He trailed off, twirling the ring on his finger.

“You’re nervous?” his wife realised. He cast his eyes down, feeling a warmth creep into his cheeks – two thousand years old, and the prospect of making love to his wife had him reduced to a shaking mess. Apparently – thankfully – it was a case only of self-loathing. The knots in his stomach untwisted at the sound of her laughter in his ear, soft and kind and reassuring.

“Oh, Doctor. I love you for your soul, not your skin.” She smiled, a light finger tracing down his shirt buttons. “Although I do happen to be quite fond of your skin too.” She pulled his shirt collar back, pressing a kiss to the hollow above his collarbone and he shuddered lightly against her lips. “Do you know what it feels like, to me? When you pop up with a new face?”

“What does it feel like?” he murmured, eyes slipping shut as she mouthed hotly at his neck.

“Falling in love all over again.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be my last update before Christmas and New Year, so I just want to wish you all a good one. Peace, love and happiness. And also lots of tears at the River references in this year's Christmas special. I hope you enjoyed this chapter - thank you all endlessly for your support, it means the world. Merry Christmas! xx


	6. 5. Time is Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> River and the Doctor stargaze from their new home; the Doctor reflects on his unique connection with his wife, and the pair discuss their time apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> The title of this chapter is referenced twice by the Doctor within it, and comes from a quote by Audrey Niffenegger's The Time Traveler's Wife; for those unfamiliar with it, the full quote is: "I love you, always. Time is nothing."  
> Thank you endlessly for your support and patience, I hope you're all well and that you enjoy this chapter - I believe it's the longest one so far. x

 The space surrounding their new planet was populated more densely by stars and neighbouring planetary bodies than that of Earth, and the view from Darillium wasn’t obscured by light pollution as were the major cities of River’s home planet. The night sky was brighter by result; full of inky purples and blues, the entirety of the visible light spectrum if you tipped your head back and looked hard enough at the spaces between stars. It wasn’t quite the brightness of Calderon Beta, a regular haunt of theirs where day and night were virtually indistinguishable; it was still dark enough to carry the sensation of intimacy that one couldn’t seek in the unforgiving glare of daylight.

Time Lords were sensual by nature, in the literal sense; they were creatures of the senses, and of those they had far more than humans, senses that didn’t translate into any Earthen language beyond “Sixth Sense”. The Doctor could fall in love with humans, and had a thousand times over, but always with an acceptance that they could never know him like his own kind had.

Before River he’d been used to a silence, a deadening of his non-human senses. She’d woken him up and dusted him off, got into corners of him that had lain undiscovered for centuries. Her human half was one of the best things about her, but River was finely attuned to her Time Lord senses and knew exactly how to play his. He’d often heard humans like to claim they had the gift of Matrimonial Telepathy, but it was a tangible force between psychic beings. As with any other sense it became sharper with practice, and centuries of marriage had left them able to read each other’s thought processes the same way one would read facial expressions or tone of voice.

When he’d first met River, of course, their minds were as out of tune as their timelines; the tingling at the edge of his mind whenever he was in her vicinity had intrigued him but she’d been careful to preserve a stubborn and often painful mental block beyond that, as with the exception of a careless slip of the tongue mind-reading was the fastest track to spoilers. He’d earned access to her mind with time. There had always been things they’d had to keep locked away but here, at a fixed point and nearing the end of their shared timeline, they were more in sync than they’d ever been and ever would be.

Perhaps that was why it seemed so heightened in this body. He felt whole like he hadn’t for a long time; there was something in him that could only be complete when it was with River. Perhaps it was because he’d felt he was re-learning many things in his last incarnation, things he’d tucked away after the War and expected never to put to use again. This body, though it had been born without her, was born loving her; tuned to her. Before he’d said Hello Sweetie and felt her mind reach out and wrap around his, just to be sure, it had felt like a balm to an ache.

He never thought he’d have this kind of love again; the kind ignited by sex. They could talk for days, they could laugh about things and they could scream at each other until her thoughts made his head burn, but when they made love their mental connection was heightened to an intensity that was enough to reduce them to tears. Making love was more of a literal translation than it was with humans; the proximity and hormones and heat of the moment meant he could give things over to her that his voice couldn’t say, and she offered up thoughts that she’d kept sealed away for years.

There was the physical side to enjoy too, of course. Her curves were fuller and softer now, and the swell of her belly enchanted him; just under her skin, barely noticeable unless one knew to look for it, was the faintest shimmer of gold - the result of carrying a child who had a set of regeneration abilities to develop. But being with her, it wasn’t sex as humans understood it; he knew as much from experience. It was far more, the weaving together of minds as well as bodies. Minutes or hours where, however long they’d been apart, they could fuse their souls and become part of the same being. Even now, as he sat with her tucked into his side the afterglow of her thoughts in his head lingered, indistinguishable from his own.

Neither had been tired enough to sleep afterwards so there they were, on a swing seat on the back porch overlooking the garden, wrapped together in a bedsheet and pillows propped behind them. His wife was a comfortable weight against his chest, knees brought up to her chin so her feet rested in his lap. She was warm despite the night, her curls tickling his cheek and smelling like honey, and his nose was buried so far in them that he’d forgotten about breathing. It was properly dark now, the last wisps of the sunset chased away by the stars; they’d spent several hours tucked away together. She had a new body to give her seal of approval to; he had time to make up for and love to prove.

“The stars are so beautiful here,” River murmured, angling her head on his shoulder to smile up at him. He hummed, watching the starlight dance in her eyes before they fluttered shut and she tucked herself against his neck with a soft sigh.

It was all a bit of a daze, he couldn’t help thinking as his arms tightened at her waist. If the renewed luxury of having her close enough to feel her warmth didn’t leave him with that oh-so-familiar ache in his chest, he’d have thought it was something his mind had dreamed up to soothe the isolation. River wriggled her toes, humming along to the song of the Towers.

His pensive hum brought her fingers up to toy inquisitively at the edge of the sheet. “What are you thinking?”

The Doctor sighed softly. “Feels like home.”

She tilted her head up, searching his expression with a faint frown. “Gallifrey?”

“No. Just… home. Like we belong here.” He smiled down at her bashfully, winding a curl around his finger. “Don’t you think?”

His wife was quiet for a little while, settling back against him so he could no longer see her face.

“The thing is… I’ve never had a proper… home, to speak of. I didn’t care for those orphanages. Stormcage was hardly domestic bliss. I got my pardon, of course, but I just hopped from place to place, not settling anywhere. And then Manhattan happened…” She fell silent for a moment, and he held her just a little tighter. “I went on all of these expeditions, day after day, to keep myself busy. I was hardly ever home, really, but… it wasn’t home. I was never coming back to anything. That feeling wasn’t there.” She hunched her shoulders up to her ears. “The feeling of… belonging. This feeling.” Her fingers curled around his hand settled on her stomach, eyes dancing between the stars. “I love the house, it’s beautiful, but the thing is… I don’t think the feeling comes from any one place, for me; it can’t, with the life I’ve had. I think… it’s you. You’re home,” she said slowly, worrying at her lip the moment the words left her mouth and refusing to look at him.

“Still?” he asked quietly, rubbing at his weathered palms. The last time he’d touched her before tonight, his hands had been soft, free of callouses; _young_. These ones were wrought with crinkles and rough lines, but they were strong. Enough to hold her up, enough to catch her.

“Always.” She tilted her head back to smile at him.

He kissed her forehead. “And we’ve got our place now. Our own little house – our own planet; just for us.”

“And Nardole,” she reminded him.

“And Ramone.” He shot her a look.

She bit her lip, assuming her best faux apologetic face as her eyes roamed across the stars. “I’m terrible, aren’t I?”

He hid a smile in her hair. “Categorically.”

“I have to ask… did you think differently of me after today? Did it – did it change how you feel, knowing what I’m really like?”

“River, I _know_ what you’re like. I didn’t think you sat around knitting and making jam.”

His wife snorted. “Now that would be something.” She lifted her head off his shoulder. “Tell me honestly, though: do you mind it? That I do all of that when you’re not there? I haven’t exactly been faithful.”

“Oh, you have. In every way that matters.” His nose nuzzled against her temple. “I would never expect to be your only companion; you’re River, you don’t belong to anyone. And you’re married to _me_ – believe me, I know that’s not easy. Half the times I showed up I was far too young to be anything close to what you needed, or just far too… me.”

“Doctor,” she chastised softly. “Those days were still the best days of my life, always. But… they were so rare. Sometimes it’d be years between our meetings.”

“I know.”

“And I’m only human – mostly. I have… needs. There was only so long that nights in my cell alone with the memory of you would be enough…”

“River.” He slipped a finger under her chin. “What you do without me is none of my business. We both know you don’t need my blessing for anything. Do whatever makes you happy. Just do me a favour and do it when I’m not looking.” He pulled a face, recalling the events of the past day.

She smiled, lightly kissing his scowl away. “So it doesn’t bother you?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Would you stop if I said it did?”

“Hardly. But I might feel a bit guilty while I’m doing it; wouldn’t be as fun.”

He laughed, throwing his head back, and she snuggled back into his side. “Mind you, if I’ve got _this_ waiting at home for me every night, I might not need it.” She kissed him where his neck met his jaw, lingering there for a moment over his double-pulse before she lifted her head to murmur into his ear. “For what it’s worth… there may have been others over the years, but… I’ve only ever been in love once.”

“Who with?” 

“Shut up.” She hit him across the face with a pillow. “We’ve been talking about me all evening. I still don’t know how this rather fine new body came about. I heard some stories about a place called Trenzalore?” she probed, smoothing her hand over his chest.

He rolled his eyes. “You and your stories.”

“I’m an archaeologist!” She grinned proudly, and her fingers pressed gently to the hollow of his throat. “What finally ended my little Bow Tie, then?”

“Old age, would you believe.”

“Old age?” She pulled back, eyes wide. “Doctor… how long were you on Trenzalore?”

Damn. Realising once again that he’d dug himself into too deep a hole to climb out of, he attempted a casual shrug. “Oh, I don’t know. Roughly, uh… a thousand years.”

“ _What_?”

“Give or take.” River had recoiled away from him, and he felt the cold of the night for the first time. He cleared his throat. “I got stuck there, protecting the town. It’s a long story. We don’t need to go into it now,” he added gently. “But I learned a lot. And got a new set of regenerations, look!” He circled his face, trying out a grin that had no effect on her. “I’ve finally grown up! Only took me a couple of millennia.”

“It’s not funny.” Her eyes shone with anger. “It’s been… over a _thousand_ years since Manhattan; since you last saw me?”

“Time is nothing.”

“Don’t you use my favourite book on me,” she warned. “This isn’t _nothing_.”

“It wasn’t _that_ long,” he argued feebly. “Not compared to…”

River’s eyes narrowed, and he suppressed a groan. Now he’d done it. “Not compared to _what_?”

“Nothing. It’s – it doesn’t matter.”

“Doctor, don’t you dare-”

“The Time Lords are back,” he blurted out, quite sure this face would receive its first River Song slap otherwise. “Turns out I didn’t destroy Gallifrey during the Time War; I locked it away in a pocket universe. Another long story. They’re how I got a new face. But they trapped me inside a Confession Dial.”

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “A Confession Dial? Those things are set on infinite time loops – you can be stuck inside them for…”

“It was only a few weeks at a time,” he said quickly, trying in vain to smooth out the sheer horror written across her face. “And then it reset. I didn’t feel it. Ish.”

“It resets,” she said slowly, her voice trembling, “When the occupant dies.”

He winced. “Yeah.”

Her eyes were burning a hole in him. “How long?”

“River, it’s really not-”

“Doctor.”

“It’s better if you don’t-”

“How long were you in there?” she insisted.

He squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t know. Exactly. They told me it was around… around four and a half… billion years.”

He felt her body slump next to his, her hand cradling her head, and her sigh made him flinch. “It was my own fault,” he said weakly, and felt the heat of her glare.

“Damn right. Is this what you’re going to be like every time a woman isn’t around to save your sorry arse?”

“Probably,” he bit back. “I’ll let you know in twenty-four years’ time.”

River yanked the sheet away from him, sitting stiffly at the end of the bench. “You fucking stupid, _stupid_ man.”

“I’m not arguing with you.”

“Why the hell didn’t you get out?”

“On their terms?” His laughter was hollow. “No thanks. I had to get to Gallifrey.”

“Why would you ever want to go back there, after the way they treated you?”

“My friend died. My best…” He swallowed, blinking back the sting in his eyes that always came, for reasons he could never recall into focus, whenever he thought of Clara. “I was responsible, I had to at least _try_ to fix it.”

She closed her eyes. “Oh, Doctor.”

“I didn’t have anyone else.”

It wouldn’t have made sense to anyone else, not out loud. But River nodded. “And you’ve been alone since you lost her. All that time in the Dial, just you.”

“Yeah.”

“How did you survive that? Having nobody, for so long?”

“I thought if I made it, I might be able to save her. That kept me going. The thought of… not having to be alone once it was over.”

“Did you, in the end?” she asked. “Save her?”

“In a way. But the whole plan backfired rather spectacularly.” He twisted the corner of the bedsheet around his finger until it turned white. “I went too far. And now all my memories of her are gone forever; everything good I had since I lost your parents, gone. It – she was all I had, for a long time; left a big empty space.” He smiled weakly. “I’m not very good at being on my own, as it turns out. I believe someone very smart told me that once.”

River edged her way along the bench, resting her head gently on his shoulder. “I wish I could have been there.”

“I know. I wanted you there; I always did. But I knew what was next for us, and I was never going to bring this forward by choice. You know what this night is; I’ve known for… a long time,” he admitted in a near-whisper. “I _didn’t_ know it was twenty-four years long, mind you. That sweetens things considerably.”

“Does it?”

Her voice was flat, and he nudged her off his shoulder to read her face. “What’s the matter?”

“You’ve been talking about twenty-four years like it’s a lifetime, and you’ve just been – you’ve been away from me longer than this planet has even been in the sky! God, this is _nothing_ -”

“Don’t say that.”

“But it’s true!”

“It’s very far from true.”

She shook her head, eyes glistening. “How?”

“River… it doesn’t compare. Twenty-four years with you means more to me than a billion, _billion_ years without you. Time is people, not years. Spending eternity on my own is nothing compared to time in one place, with one person. _That’s_ what a lifetime is. And this.” He felt her muscles flex under his touch as he ran his fingers lightly along her stomach.

“Believe me,” he implored quietly.

She nodded, eyes slipping shut as he pressed a kiss to the bridge of her nose. “You were so happy to see me,” she said in disbelief.

“Of course I was happy to see you. You’re my River. You’ve been in my life longer than you haven’t.” He smiled. “And I have been alone for a rather substantial amount of time.”

“But it’s been so long for you since we were together… and you still…”

“Time is nothing,” he repeated quietly. They both knew _The Time Traveler’s Wife_ by hearts, reading it with a sort of fascination and each asking the other if they were absolutely _sure_ they hadn’t bought Audrey Niffenegger a drink at some point. She knew the words that came before; they were said without him having to speak them.

“You’ve been through so much,” she said softly.

“Oh, you know me. King of Ok.”  

“Ah-ah. If I’m not hiding the damage anymore, then you can’t either.” She smoothed her thumb over his cheek. “I know what it does to you, to bottle up grief. I don’t need you to be strong for me.”

Now she’d been assured that this body was at ease with intimacy her hands never left him, light caresses sweeping over his chest and down his arms. Whenever she was here he forgot how he’d ever lasted without her, and this; the press of her lips against his jaw, her forehead a comforting weight against his. “We both just need some time to get better. We can do that here.” She cupped his face in her hands. “You must be tired.”

“So must you.” He raised an eyebrow. “Busy day.”

She hummed, chuckling, and took his hands in hers. “Come on, my love. Sleep is a good start.”

 


	7. 6. Scottish Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor and River spend their first "morning" on Darillium visiting the local market.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! xx

When he awoke, the gentle lullaby of the Singing Towers would have sent him straight back to sleep had the weight of another body tucked against his not made a pleasant sort of shock simmer in his chest. Last night they’d talked in soft whispers until one of them ended up falling asleep, he couldn’t remember who, and he’d warned himself that he’d wake up in the morning and for the briefest of moments he’d forget that this was life now. It would happen for years, he expected; the surprise of remembering that he was happy.

Soft breathing warmed his neck, interrupted by the occasional snore that became lost against his skin. She was so close, uncomfortably so if it had been anyone else but her – not one moment of this would have been possible with anyone else – curled into his side with her feet tucked between his and her hand curled around his hip. He’d woken with one hand splayed across her stomach and danced his fingers along it absent-mindedly as he lay there, wondering if enough sleeps here could erase the memory of what Greystark Hall felt like, the cold streets of New York, even Stormcage. He certainly hadn’t forgotten the chill in his bones waking him one morning, when an anniversary had turned into a three-week stint in a Cybus prisoner of war camp and he hadn’t had the heart to leave her in her cell alone after they’d only just escaped with their skulls intact. He’d wondered how she could bear it, especially without the warmth of another person – the same thing that had stopped him being able to bear anything more than standy-up-cat-naps for the last however many years.

He felt River’s eyelashes flutter against his skin as she stirred, the twitch in the cheek pillowed on his shoulder as she smiled that little smile that made his hearts flit wildly against his ribs like he had some sort of crush. The idle strokes of his fingers became surer, tracing little circles into her belly.

When she lifted her head, it was to gaze on him in companionable silence with sleep-glazed eyes like she couldn’t quite believe they were here either, rather than waking up to an empty space or a note on the pillow written in lipstick. It felt shockingly new; the last thing it should feel after centuries, millennia, of marriage.

“Hello,” he whispered finally.

“Hello.” She edged closer till her nose brushed his, sweeping her thumb over his cheek.

He shifted to cup her jaw in his free hand, watching that soft smile grow. “How did you sleep?”

“Wonderfully.” She arched her back with a breathy sigh, stifling a yawn against his chest. She pressed her lips to his skin again and again, a ritual between his hearts.

He’d told her amid reserved whispers last night that this body had yet to be touched; she’d fulfilled her promise on the starship to let him know, or rather show him, just what she thought of it beyond the face. Surprisingly, she seemed to enjoy the face most of all; as they lay there she traced the lines at the corners of his mouth, running her little finger along his jutting eye sockets and hollowed cheeks.

He still felt somewhat reserved, fighting back mental comparisons to his previous younger selves – or, worse, the likes of Ramone, who even he might have considered had River not been around. His stomach flexed under her sweeping palms and he lifted his head to watch her kiss along his ribs, bemused and undeserving.

River’s eyes shot up to him. “Audible.”

“Hm?”

His wife snuggled closer to wedge a leg between his, her rounded stomach pressing into his side, and drew him into a kiss.

That was one advantage to this face: no guesswork. She could rest safely in the knowledge that every night with the face she’d married was a memory to him, and she never had to hold back again _just in case_. When she’d learned that last night had been a first of almost every kind for this body, she had whispered something appealing about starting again.

He’d been far too young to fully understand just how much that first-last kiss in Stormcage had frightened her. It hadn’t been her last, of course – far from it – but it had alerted her, he thought, to the startling transience of their timelines. The trickle of psychic thought she’d allowed to drift through to him that night in a moment of comfort had kept him awake for weeks, aching to know who the hell she was to be able to climb inside his head like she belonged there. It had scared her into closing herself off, along with a series of other instances for which his younger self was to blame; even when they were both old enough the fear of backwards days to come had haunted them relentlessly. He’d had the privilege of glimpses of her, in between the haze of running and bickering and sex, but even he – the person who knew her like no-one else in the cosmos – felt he fell just short of breaking through to her. Her words to Flemming had proven as much. But now, as their kiss deepened until he was dizzy, he felt they’d come further in this one night than they had in many years. Her mind unfurled, raw and spoilerless, more and more each time this new body touched her.

He knew, after everything, what it meant for someone like River to offer herself up like this; this body may not have been as young or smooth-faced, but there was a different kind of loveliness in knowing it was the one she could trust most, the one she felt she could open up to. Being with her was remembering how it felt to like himself.

In all their lives they’d scarcely been together without moving, laid bare in silence and stillness as they were now. He’d made stupid throwaway comments about damage and age that had led her to shy away from this level of intimacy. They hadn’t even been here twenty-four hours but he’d been working tirelessly to undo the distance and it seemed, blessedly, to be working. She’d changed along with him in their time apart; when they’d undressed and he’d felt her nerves fizzing at the peripheries of his mind, his own inhibitions had given way to a dedication to chasing hers away – mapping out every inch of her with kisses. There were the more obvious changes that pregnancy had brought about, but it was the changes besides that by which he was most fascinated; the things he’d purposefully ignored, like the idiot he was, all too worried about what they meant. When he was younger he refused to believe that she was ageing, because it meant he could pretend that they weren’t always hurtling towards their inevitable end-beginning. And it was easy, to an extent – her ageing process was more aligned with his than with that of her parents, and his encounters with her older selves were interspersed with ones where she was young enough still to say _Spoilers_ like it was a word she didn’t understand.

Manhattan had aged them both like nothing else; he’d seen it settle in her eyes within a matter of days, the days where the air in the Tardis was heavy with grief, any words were snapped and any touch was bruising. There was a beautiful sort of irony in having conceived a child during it. It had etched lines into the corners of her eyes, left dustings of grey at her temples, and he’d run from it because he knew he’d only seen her older than this once before. Now that he knew a quarter of a century waited for them, he found beauty in the same subtle changes that had terrified him years ago. It had always saddened him that they couldn’t grow old together, but they had in their own way; him more obviously, her in ways only noticeable to him.

He rolled them so she was pinned beneath him, stretching their intertwined hands above her head. River’s teeth sunk into his bottom lip and she wrestled a hand free to pull the sheets up and over their heads, cocooning them together in skin-warmth and golden silk, her thighs cradling his narrow hips.

She pulled her head back to kiss the tip of his nose, scrunching up her own. “I need a bath.”

He smiled, propping his chin on her chest. “Have you seen the tub?”

She hummed, arching an eyebrow. “Big enough for two.”

“Or three,” he mused, shifting to the side and circling her belly button. “You’re really blooming, aren’t you?”

“Mmm. Must be about fifteen weeks by now. I forgot to check dates when I scanned myself after we crashed, but I think I’d just hit the three-month-mark before I got caught up in the whole Hydroflax thing.”

“Three-week marriage?”

“Two-week. Took him a week to propose.”

“Oh, that’s right. You said you were his nurse?”

“I was. I think the costume did the trick. Which I still have.” She winked.

“And those… “Many nights of passion” he talked about…” he hedged, trying valiantly to curtail his disgust.

“Oh, _that_.” She giggled. “He had this fetish for ear massages, would you believe. Drove him wild. Kept him occupied for hours on end - didn’t have to do anything else. So you can rest safely in the knowledge that I wasn’t off shagging cyborg kings in your absence.” Her eyebrows shot up at his snort of laughter. “You can laugh! Need I remind you of the night of the strategically placed Jammie Dodgers?”

“Ah.” He smiled dreamily. “What a birthday.”

“Did I _really_?”

“What?”

“Marry you?” She laughed against his lips, her hands sweeping up his back. This self was still new to being held so surely, like a precious thing; his skin was warmer where she’d touched it and he imagined himself feeling it for years after she’d gone, craving the security that he’d only ever feel with her hands on him.

“I take it the new body has your seal of approval, then?” he asked as her fingers traced over the bones of his hips.

She arched her back, pressing against him with a purr. “Oh _yes_. I’ve only told you a dozen times.”

“You can tell me again if it helps put your mind at rest.” The Doctor bit his lip to stop his little smile collapsing into smugness. “Even the eyebrows?” He waggled the subjects of the conversation at her, making her giggle and press a kiss to each one.

“Especially the eyebrows.”

“They’re not too cross?”

“Not at all. They make you look very… mature.” He watched her trace the lines in his face with a sort of reverence, and fought down a blush. “You’ve definitely still got it, sweetie. And I’m not just talking about the face.”

“You never are.” He smiled wryly, rolling them till they lay side by side, still curled around each other like the fate of the galaxy depended on it.

 

* * *

 

 

They were forced out of the bathtub only by cold water that puckered their skin, huddling on the bed in warm towels to dry off as they cracked the window open and debated what variation of crystal the Towers had to comprised of to be behind such an unusual symphony. By the time River wandered into the kitchen smelling of cocoa butter the Doctor was stood over the stove in his dressing gown and slippers, his hair towel-dried so that it stuck up in wild tufts.

She reached up on her toes to smooth it down, peeking over his shoulder at the frying pan. “Full English?”

“Yep.”

“No mushrooms?”

He snorted softly, giving her a look. “Do you think I’m an amateur? I haven’t forgotten.”

She smiled into his back, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades. “Your memory certainly impressed me last night. And this morning.”

He angled his hips away from her wandering hands. “Tsk. Do you want burnt sausages?”

She pressed her lips together. “No.”

“Then sit.”

He pointed to the nearest stool with his spatula, a smile in his voice. She held her hands up, taking a seat at the kitchen island; he’d picked some flowers out of the garden that sat in a vase beside her, and she cupped the petals in her hands. A clattering noise came from the hallway, and she shot up in alarm. “What was that?”

He shrugged. “The postman, probably.”

“Postman?” Her nose crinkled like the term was foreign to her and shifting off her seat. “We’ve only been here half a day!”

The post turned out to be Darillium’s equivalent of junk mail; the usual holographic flyers, a couple of food samples from the restaurant’s new menu, invitations to a moonlit climb through the crystal caves. Breakfast was waiting for her on the table when she got back to the kitchen, and she dropped the mail between the plates for the Doctor to _ooh_ at it like it was a new star system.

“What’s on the agenda for today, then?”

“Thought we could do a bit of sightseeing,” he proposed through a mouthful of toast, leafing through the post with his free hand. “Get to know the place.”

“Sounds lovely.”

“Aw!” He waved a small blue leaflet at River. “There’s a Christmas market on.”

She laughed softly. “How quaint.”

He bit his lip. “Too boring?”

“No! No. God, believe me, I welcome boring.”

“Well then, Professor.” He raised his glass of orange juice. “To boring.”

 

* * *

 

 

It had started snowing whilst they’d slept, and persisted now in a light flurry as they sauntered through the market stalls behind the restaurant arm-in-arm. Now that the starry darkness had set in fairy lights were strung across each stall, and the place was bustling with more life forms than River had seen in one place since that bar Jack had taken her to on Honthar 7.

“A lot of neighbours here, for a human colony,” River remarked.

“Yeah. They most likely travel over from the nearby planets to trade. Humans will buy anything. Ooh, flowers!” He lifted a pot housing a spiky blue plant with a single sorry-looking flower on top. “What’s this one? We don’t have this in our garden.”

“We’ve got just about everything else, darling. I can barely get out of the door,” she reminded him, gently prising the plant out of his hands. “I’ve been meaning to ask how they’re all growing without sunlight. Are they artificial?”

He grinned. “No. They’re magic.”

“Doctor.”

“No, really. They genetically modify them to photosynthesise in starlight.”

“Oh, of course! Clever. So is it going to be Christmas the whole time we’re here?” she asked, dusting a sprinkling of snow from his velvet jacket.

“Think so.” He fished a jelly baby from his mouth and popped it into his mouth. “Don’t really know how things work here. You know humans though; always imposing their funny little traditions on things. But I suppose we can make it whatever we want it to be. Are you warm enough? I have a scarf you can borrow. It’s rather conspicuous, but it does the trick.”

“I’m fine, sweetie.” She smiled at him over the buttoned top of her duffel coat, and flicked at the bobble on the hat he’d bought at the first stall and wrestled over her curls, despite her protests. “Is the mollycoddling something I should come to expect?”

“As long as you’re growing new people, yes.” He dusted a flake of snow off her nose and grabbed her gloved hand to pull her over to a hot chocolate stall. “Two large ones, please. With marshmallows. And caramel sauce. And sprinkles!”

They collected their drinks and wandered down to the end stalls. A flurry of small children rounded the corner at the same time as them, almost crashing into their knees but all except one dodging around them at the last second, uttering high-pitched squeals of laughter. The last, smaller than all the others, ran head-first into the Doctor’s legs and landed with a bump in the snow, stunned.

“Whoa!”

“So sorry, Mister,” the little boy mumbled, his bottom lip trembling. The Doctor handed his hot chocolate to River and bent down to lift him to his feet, ruffling his hair.

“Completely my fault. Please accept this by way of my sincerest apology.” The boy’s eyes widened as the Doctor pulled a bar of chocolate out of his coat pocket, and he toddled off clutching it to his chest.

“Sorry,” he said when he straightened up and found River staring at him. “That was for you, in case you got any cravings. I brought some other emergency provisions, but I didn’t think he’d care for a jar of pickles. Oh, look! This might be useful.” He picked up a book titled _Darillium: A Complete History_ off a table covered in purple cloth and handed over some change to a Hath who bubbled at him perplexedly. “Sorry – wrong currency? Hang on. Umm.”

River stepped up to him, handing over a note. “Here you are. Psychic coinage,” she whispered to the Doctor when the stall owner gave an appreciative gurgle. “They see whatever they want to spend.”

“Nice! Highly illegal in this galaxy, but nice.”

Once they’d swallowed down their hot chocolates they sat on little wicker chairs at a pop-up dessert stall, the table between them soon being piled high. “I’m eating for two,” River argued to no-one in particular as she tucked into a fudge cake, eyeing his sundae. “What’s your excuse?”

“Sweet tooth.”

“Is that why you’re with me?”

“I’m not sure sweetness is the first trait that springs to mind, honey.”

It slipped off his tongue as easily as it always had, but such a word sent a jolt through him. It always had, what with its casual intimacy, its implication that she was someone to him worthy of such a tender term of endearment. He liked it – he liked it on her. He liked that she was that to _him_ ; a woman who could scatter armies with one word yet let him, only him, bestow her with a name so gentle and sweet. He remembered his hesitation at giving her such a title when he was young, his liquid hearts when she responded like it was something they said – would say – often.

He hadn’t said it for a very long time; it was her name, only hers, and without her he would never speak it. Hell, he could barely say her _real_ name without air rushing up his throat and squeezing his tongue into paralysis. Many of the things he’d said in the past twenty-four hours were new words to this version of himself, and he couldn’t help feeling that, as right as they felt to be saying again, perhaps they didn’t _sound_ right coming from a body that bore too many sharp edges.

When he stopped attempting to stab the cherry on his sundae with the spoon, he looked up to find River watching him in something that he could have called fascination.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“What?” he insisted.

“ _Nothing_.” Apparently sensing his desperation to know he hadn’t offended her in some way, she rolled her eyes and her mouth split into a sudden grin. “I just rather like the way Honey sounds in Scottish.”

He snorted softly.

“I like the way everything sounds in Scottish,” she went on, resting her elbows on the table and propping her chin in her hands.

“Your mother was Scottish,” he reminded her, giving her his best chastising look that she’d never once paid attention to.

“Oh, fine. I like the way everything sounds in _your_ voice. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

He frowned, puzzling it over. It had always sounded far too brusque for his liking; good for wielding authority, not so good for wielding affection. He spent hours devising the right words to say to her only for them to come out sounding like sarcasm. “It’s not a bit rough for you?”

“I like it a bit rough.”

“River.”

“What? You said it!” She dropped her sultry smile, clasping his hands in hers. “You know… I like everything about this you.”

“I had an inkling.” He fought down a grin, raising an eyebrow. “Would you say this me is your… favourite?”

“Doctor!” she scolded. “I don’t have _favourites_.”

“But if you _were_ to have favourites…”

“ _You’re_ my favourite, Doctor. Always you.” She pressed a finger to his chest. “The skin you wear doesn’t factor into it. Well.” Her eyes dragged over him, sparkling. “Maybe it does a _bit_. On an entirely unrelated note, I’m suddenly feeling the urge to get back home.”

“Funny, that.” He smirked. “We need to get the Tardis, though. I left her up in the restaurant last night. I had a little space put in the back yard where we can park her…”

He trailed off, tilting his head. River’s eyes had drifted over his shoulder, and before he could pout at not being the centre of her attention he caught something in her expression that he was quite sure he’d never seen on her before.

Looking behind him, he found a young woman resting against a stall adorned with tiny handmade clothes, trying in vain to console a chubby, screaming little creature in her arms with a rattle.

River was still lost in watching them when he pulled his screwdriver from his pocket under the table, and a moment later the rattle flew out of the mother’s hand and across the street.

“Doctor!” she scolded, ducking her head as the woman whipped her head around in alarm, clutching the baby to her chest to protect him from the invisible force. “What did you do that for?”

“You’d cry too if someone shook a noisy object in the face of all your problems. See?” The baby had stopped crying, of course, and he raised his eyebrows triumphantly. “Humans would have a far easier time with parenthood if they actually bothered to listen to their children.”

“Well. We can’t all speak baby.” She stabbed at the remnants of her cake sulkily, cheeks flushing at having been caught in a moment of sentimentality.

He nudged her hand with his spoon. “They don’t always make that noise, you know. Sometimes they stop to snort milk out of their nose. Can be quite entertaining.”

River glared up at him, fighting down a smile. “I hate you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading and for your lovely comments - they really do mean the world to me!  
> I’ve wanted to do this ever since watching The Husbands of River Song, so here it is! Please note that I’m a busy woman so I apologise in advance if there is a bit of a delay between chapters. Nevertheless, I have a lot planned for this story and I hope you enjoy what's in store.  
> xx


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